a/n: for this chapter I'm going to sorta get back on track with the season-line, so you're going to be hearing some of the older shit between Sam and Dean.

The Power of Two: About a Month Later

How the hell did this happen?

The question turned around in Dean's mind once again, and it was just plain tiring. Somehow, somewhere along the line, they had royally screwed up. He had no idea where it had went wrong, something in his blind spot—and for this to be the end result, to have the Devil free from the cage—it had to have been huge.

They had tried to prevent the breaking of the 66 Seals, and everything had been as it had always been. But the only changing factor was that in that month, Castiel had never reached out or came to them in person—but primarily in Dean's dreams. That was where he would inform Dean that there was a Seal in danger of being broken and yadah, yadah, yadah. And in everyone of those dreams, he would always question about Nathan, whereupon he'd probably get the most vaguest answers from Cas—and it always made him want to pull his hair and yell.

It was a reasonable response, he defended.

But where did everything go to shit?

And then bam! The Colt, it was obvious, how could they have forgotten it? Well, they didn't really, it was just kind put on the back burners when the discovered Nathan and the whole Apocalypse thing. So they continued to try and track it down (it had been stolen and sold after Bella got her hands on it) while preventing the Seals from being broken, but seemed to be around every corner. So during one of his dream-talks with Castiel, he had mentioned it. Of course Cas had nodded and just said that he'd look into it when he got the chance and promptly disappeared, claiming that he had to go.

So that brought them to the here and the now. Which was... oh, right! Pissed at Sam because he went of with Ruby, hiked up on Demon blood and killed Lilith—breaking the final Seal and freeing the Devil.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean demanded.

Sam rolled his, getting tired of this; they'd been through it a millions times already. "I was thinking that I should finish this because I wasn't sure that you'd be able to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." Sam told him. "Ever since Hell, you haven't been the same, Dean. A part of you isn't there anymore—I didn't think that you could get the job done."

Den clenched his jaw; he couldn't explain the way that that had hurt him—obviously deep down though. "I'm going to forget that you just said that," Dean held up a finger at him. "Because I know that it's the Demon blood talking."

"Maybe it isn't." Sam told him. "Maybe the Demon blood just gave me what I need to finally see that I'm better than you and don't need to be treated like a frigin' kid!"

Dean turned from Sam, nodding, his lips pursed as he looked right a Bobby—but no way in hell was Bobby touching that with a ten-foot pole.

"Maybe I treat you that way because if someone doesn't, you get addicted to Demon blood and free Lucifer!" Dean snapped, spinning back around.

Anger flashed across Sam's features. "That's a low blow." he growled quietly.

"It's true." Dean countered.

"Enough!" Bobby snapped, because this really wasn't solving anything—and they had more pressing matter to attend. "Sam," he said when they finally looked at him. "Go down into the Panic Room and get me the spell book and the one that's about four inches wide with the cover missing." he looked at Dean. "And you need to cool your jets."

Sam's nostrils flared and his hands clenched at his sides as he turned and went down the basement stairs.

Dean opened his mouth to growl something out, but Bobby beat him to it. "Just go down stairs and lock your idjit brother in, we need to detox him as soon as possible." he grumble; hating the situation they were in and even more irritable because he hadn't had proper news able Nathan's whereabouts.

Dean nodded and made his stealthily down the stairs and shut and locked the door to the Panic Room.

"Hey!" Sam yelled, dropping the books he was holding and rushing to the door. "What're you doing?" he demanded.

"Sorry, Sam." Dean said, looking through the little slot. "It's for your own good."

"You can't do this!"

"I can though, you see, I'm your big brother therefore; I'm in charge of you."

"Dean!"

Dean hated to do this to Sam, but he had no other choice but to leave him here and wait for the Demon blood to leave his system.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of Sam's yells. They were muffled and he didn't know what his brother was saying; he could feel the vibrations of it coming up through the floor. He really tried to block it, block everything really because he just needed a moment, one second where there was nothing and he could have that sliver of piece.

That idea turned to crap though, because Bobby was banging around in the kitchen.

"Quit banging around it there for Christ sake!" Dean hollered, his fist hitting the couch cushion beside him.

There was a pause before the cupboard door slammed shut and there was foot steps coming towards him. "Sorry," he said around a mouthful of food, and Dean's eyes snapped open. "I haven't eaten anything in ages."

"Nathan!" Dean barked, acerbating over the back of the couch and Nathan looked at him with started eyes. "You're back."

Nathan swallowed before he spoke. "Uh, yeah. Want one?" he asked, holding out the box of cookies in his hand towards Dean; it was all he could find and if he hadn't he would have considered eating some of the stuff at the back of the fridge—and that was overboard desperate.

"No." Dean said incredulous, shaking his head. "What are you doing here?"

Nathan raised his brows. "I thought that you'd be glad to see me." he said, shoving a whole cookie in his mouth and commenced to chew.

"Of course I am, I don't do moves liked that for just anyone."

Nathan lips twitched. "You look tired." he commented.

"I could say the same."

And it was totally true; Nathan looked different than he did a month ago. His clothes were worn (Dean was sure that he could see old blood stains on the material), the colour of his hair dull. Dean could see that his eyes had aged, that he had seen things. But he did have that confidence that came from experience and he did seem to hold himself differently. He was now a seasoned Hunter, he was just like them. Dean wasn't sure quite how he felt about that little snippet.

"What's with the looks?" Nathan asked, startling him back to reality.

"Nothing." Dean told him. "I'm still not sure whether or not you're being here is a good thing or a bad thing."

"Oh, that! I think you'll be glad that I dropped by." Nathan told him happily.

"Why's that?" Dean asked slowly, suddenly feeling butterflies—manly-butterflies—in his stomach.

"We found the Colt."